


Get This Right

by Cheol_Apple



Category: Mobile Legends: Bang Bang (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Space, F/M, Legend Skins, Reincarnation, Technology, Valentine's Skins, Wartime, gusley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25361902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheol_Apple/pseuds/Cheol_Apple
Summary: The first life is always the hardest. You wait for something that doesn’t come, and when it does, you don’t always cherish it the way you should have. So use your first life right. Keep your heart safe, protect it from the thorns of life, of love. Safeguard it, so that in your next life, it goes exactly where it needs to.Or not. Live frivolously, love frivolously, like how fire loves to consume tinder, like how a nightingale loves the moon, like how the waves love the shore. Love carelessly, love endlessly, so that in your next life, your heart knows all the traps it has to avoid.aka, seven worlds in which Gusion and Lesley failed to get their happy ending and the one where they finally did.
Relationships: Gusion/Lesley (Mobile Legends: Bang Bang)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Get This Right

**Author's Note:**

> This took the longest time to write. I had originally planned to publish a shorter version of this along the same time with Cosmic Gleam's release but clearly, that didn't happen. It's mostly because of my beta who challenged me to write about all the skins instead of just three lol. So yeah, I gave up all my fcks about word count and here we are. However, I chose not to add Gusion's KOF skin to the fic because he's supposed to be a different character entirely. As a result, Lesley's Cheergunner didn't make the cut as well. Sorry hun :(
> 
> This fic is heavily inspired by [this one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21009908) by ninepointfive, which was in turn inspired by [25 lives by tongari](http://www.shousetsubangbang.com/mirror/25-lives/). I'm a sucker for reincarnation fics~
> 
> There’s an opposite to déjà vu. They call it jamais vu. It’s when you meet the same people or visit places, again and again, but each time is the first. Everybody is always a stranger. Nothing is ever familiar.  
> \- Chuck Palahniuk, Choke

_The first life is always the hardest. You wait for something that doesn’t come, and when it does, you don’t always cherish it the way you should have. So use your first life right. Keep your heart safe, protect it from the thorns of life, of love. Safeguard it, so that in your next life, it goes exactly where it needs to._

_Or not. Live frivolously, love frivolously, like how fire loves to consume tinder, like how a nightingale loves the moon, like how the waves love the shore. Love carelessly, love endlessly, so that in your next life, your heart knows all the traps it has to avoid._

═════════╕

First

╘═════════

“Gusion… Gusion! Are you listening to me?”

The young Paxley was snapped out of his reverie. He looked up to see his parents and brothers staring at him as he leant against the carriage’s glass windows, feeling every bump the vehicle made on the road.

“Yes, Father?”

“Stop leaning against the glass! Back straight! Do you want your brain to be ground into fine pulp?”

“Unless it already is,” Auguste, his eldest brother, snickered. The rest of his brothers followed suit, and Gusion had no choice but to sit properly, face reddening as he did so.

“Really, the first time I bring you to the Imperial Sanctuary, and you have the urge to act out like this? How insolent of you—“

“Enough,” Lady Paxley admonished her husband, putting a placating hand on his arm. “He has learned his lesson. Remember, it is Prince Aurelius’s christening we’re going to. We should bear nothing but well wishes.”

Lord Paxley only nodded gruffly, and he made no comment for the rest of the ride. The only other time Gusion was bothered was when Auguste poked him roughly, and pointed to an old, grayish building in the distance.

“See that, building, little brother? That’s the Monastery of Light. Kids with no parents get left there all the time. They have nothing to eat and they sleep on the floor.” An evil grin appeared on his face. “I bet you’ll fit in there just fine.”

Once again, his brothers laughed at his statement. Gusion helplessly glanced at his parents, but it was as though they didn’t hear a thing. He forcefully looked away from the monastery, squeezing his eyes shut. Instructing himself harshly not to cry. _Of course. They never do._

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Lord Paxley!” A middle-aged man with a brown mustache approached the Paxleys as they entered the Imperial Sanctuary. “So glad you could make it. I see you’re doing well... ah, you’ve brought the whole lot with you, then?”

“Earl Ansaac. Always a pleasure.” Lord Paxley shook hands with him, gesturing afterwards to his family. “You’ve met my wife before. This is Auguste, Calum, Emeril… and my youngest, Gusion.”

“What a fine brood. They will surely grow up to be the most eligible men in the Empire!”

“Yes… that’s the hope…” Lord Paxley narrowed his eyes at Gusion before turning to Earl Ansaac once more. “Any news for me?”

“Have you heard about the Vances’ new charge?”

“New? Did that old crone of theirs give birth again?”

“No, I’m told they adopted one of their servants’ children—a little girl. Parents died in a night raid. Quite suspicious if you ask me.”

“Bah. Commoner blood. As though they aren’t dirtied enough already.”

“Paxley! Just because they are allied with a rival magic school…”

“I’ve said what I said, Ansaac. Those Vances barely deserve a place in Moniyan, let alone in this palace. But let’s not dwell on that anymore… How’s your little girl? Carmilla?”

“Growing prettier by the day. She will make a fine wife for any nobleman soon… perhaps one of yours?”

“I like the way you think! And how about your finances…?”

As soon as Gusion heard the word _finances_ , he knew that his father was going to be talking for a while. His mother was looking on with feigned interest, but then she caught Gusion’s eye. She winked at him, and he took that as permission to flit away, his brothers following suit, albeit to a different direction.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Gusion had always thought that their family’s estate was huge. And it was—one of the largest in the Empire, in fact.

But the Imperial Sanctuary seemed five times larger, and within minutes, he had lost sight of the party, turning this way and that, staring silently at the different paintings and statues at every corner.

One hallway, in particular, looked quite inviting. He saw that it led to an open area, sunlight filtering through. He quickly ran towards it, the grass outside becoming more visible with every step, but he stopped just before the doorway, hearing an unusual sound.

Someone was crying.

Gusion wanted to turn back, possibly find his mother once again, but a part of him told him not to, and to face this obstacle head on. Mother had always told him to be compassionate, and to look out for others. Perhaps he could do this for whoever was crying…

He left the hallway slowly, soundlessly stepping onto the green. It looked like a training courtyard—straw dummies were lined up at the far end, and there was a wall mounted on one side full of swords, bows, and axes. Another wall was adorned with shields. The wall closest to him was lined with a long bench. And on the bench itself…

Her hair was red. No, that didn’t seem adequate, it was _red_. As though every rose and strawberry in the world had given up some of their hue to brighten her hair. Gusion had seen flowers with less vibrance. She was clad in an expensive-looking periwinkle dress, which made Gusion realize this was a noble, just like him. She seemed uncomfortable in it though. She would stop sobbing every so often to tug at her sleeves, or fiddle with the lace collar. Her hair kept falling in front of her face, but that didn’t seem to bother her as much as the dress did. It kept her face in the shadows, and he can’t tell the color of her eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly, approaching the girl.

At the sound of his voice, the girl started. She fell off the bench and took shelter behind it, as though it was a defensive wall.

“Who—who are you?” She yelped. Her hands felt along the bench before finally coming up to her face. “Go away!”

“I won’t hurt you,” Gusion promised. “Do… do you need any help? Someone to talk to? I could go look for someone to help you.”

The girl only narrowed her eyes at him, her open palms curled into fists. A stray tear fell from her right eye. “You won’t find them. No one can help me. Ever again. They’re… they’re gone.”

“Who’s gone?”

“Mama… and Papa. They’re gone. I… I won’t ever see them again.” She wiped the tear, leaving a wet streak on her cheek. “Anyway, what do you care? Just leave me alone!”

“I’m not going to do that.” Gusion said firmly. “You look like you need company.”

“No! I need my parents, and they’re gone!” Her lips curled into a scowl before crumpling once again, quivering. “G-gone!” She ducked, bringing up her knees to her chest, and sobbed into her hands.

For a few moments, Gusion was unsure of what to do. This _compassion_ thing didn’t seem to be going so well. But he still felt compelled to help her. No one should have to feel this alone in the world, crying on their own in an unfamiliar place, during a supposedly cheerful event. He knew that feeling too well.

So instead, he sat cautiously on the end of the other bench. The girl didn’t notice, and he scooted a little closer, close enough to finally see the features of her face properly. He realized that there was a lumpy scar on her left eye, barely healed. He guessed that was why she didn’t bother fixing her hair.

That wasn’t the problem on hand, though. He cleared his throat and started talking.

“When I was a five, my parents got me a puppy for my birthday. He had pointy ears, a bushy tail, and golden-brown fur. I loved him so, so much.”

She didn’t seem to notice him, but he kept on talking anyway. “The problem was, I was too young to realize how important it was to take care of him. I gave him food and water, but apart from that, I held him however I wanted, whenever I wanted. I think there were times I squeezed him almost to the point of suffocation. My biggest mistake, though, was letting my brothers play with him.”

He didn’t realize it, but the girl had stopped crying. She looked up at Gusion, who was staring into the distance.

“Mother and Father never bought them any pets, you see, and this made them very jealous. So they took the puppy one afternoon, and started playing tricks with him—making him stand up on his hind legs, making him chase his tail, that sort of thing. Then Calum had a swell idea. They wanted to see if he could swim. So they brought him to the pond in our gardens.”

“They must’ve thought all dogs knew how to swim. But my puppy was very small, his legs were short. And he was barely a year old. He didn’t have much experience with water. I wasn’t there when it happened, but…” He looked down, still ignoring the girl, who was now hanging on to every word.

“The last time I saw him, he was raggedy. Wet. Stiff, too. Father buried him in the gardens. I cried for a week.”

“I… I’m sorry?” The girl offered, and Gusion looked up in surprise. He hadn’t expected this to work. Still, he continued his story.

“It’s alright. My mother came to me the last night I cried. She said, every time someone died, if that someone had a good soul, the Lord of Light took mercy upon them. Because they had so much light in their hearts, he blessed them with a place in the sky. So that every night, they can shine down on their loved ones and shed the light they have. That way, the ones they left behind could still feel their love.”

“Is your mother… talking about the stars?”

“I suppose she was.” A small smile graced Gusion’s lips. “She said my puppy was now up there, shining down on me every night, because he was a good pup. And now… if your parents loved you the way I think they did, I bet they’re up there too. Guiding you. Watching over you. So you see, you’re not alone. No one ever is. Someone is always up there, to watch over you. And right now, I am too.”

The girl looked away at that, her eyes flitting up to the sky. Although it was broad daylight, she was probably imagining the constellations that lined the sky. “Mama… and Papa… up there? But that’s so hard to believe.”

“But it’s easy to imagine.”

“I… I suppose. What a nice thing to imagine… Th-thank you.” She smiled at him, shyly, and Gusion let out a small sigh of relief. Crisis over.

“Are you here for the party too?”

“Yeah… my new family brought me here. They thought I would like the place. But it’s too big. I got lost almost immediately.”

“Then come with me. We’ll find our way back to the party.”

“…Alright. Have you been here before?”

“No.”

The girl frowned. “Then I won’t come with you!”

“Aw, come on.” Gusion grinned at her. “It’ll be fun!”

“Getting lost in a big palace is _not_ fun!”

“I’ll make it so! Besides, you owe me your company for helping you stop crying.”

“I didn’t ask for your _help_.”

“But you needed it. Come on,” Gusion pouted. “Just take my hand?”

She stared at his outstretched hand for a few seconds, before finally taking it. Her hand was smooth and warm in his.

“That’s more like it. I’m Gusion Paxley. And you are?”

“I’m Lesley. Lesley… Vance.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Gusion has never seen so much black gathered in one place.

In all his years of training, he had gotten used to light. Light was the one element all Paxley mages were supposed to be good at—it should emanate from their wands, their staffs, their palms, whatever implement they wished to use. And Gusion was good at casting it—all his blades held a light of their own, deadly comets that never failed to hit their target. Despite his family’s aversion to blades, he became very proficient in handling them, able to throw ten or more blades at a time. This skill of his had made him used to so many bright lights, that he is able to see clearly even though his surroundings are obscured.

This is the exact opposite of bright lights. Everyone had worn black, even him. The white curtains had been swapped for heavy black damask ones, which didn’t let a ray of light in. Flower magic managed to turn the carnations in the garden midnight black, and even the candles seemed to agree with this atmosphere, their light weak and sputtering darker smoke than usual.

It hurt Gusion’s eyes.

“Is that the last of them?” Lord Paxley inquired to the servant. His face was tight, but emotionless, and if weren’t for the dark bags under his eyes, Gusion wouldn’t have been able to tell that his father had been grieving. He wondered if he really was.

He never could tell if his father truly loved his wife.

“Yes, milord.”

“Good. There will be no more visitors tomorrow. She shall be buried in the family catacombs tomorrow evening. Is that understood?”

As the servants nodded assent, Gusion looked sideways at his brothers. Although they looked equally subdued, they didn’t seem perturbed at their father’s announcement. Still, Gusion felt the need to speak up.

“Mother said she wanted her remains to be cremated, though, and the ashes scattered in the gardens.”

At his words, his brothers looked up in alarm, before glancing at their father. But Lord Paxley didn’t even seem surprised. And perhaps that was worse.

“Did she now?” He said, his voice slick with malice. “What else did she tell you, huh? That she was going to live forever? That she can float through walls?”

“But—“

“Listen to me.” Lord Paxley’s voice hardened. “I am the master of this house. And my wife has just passed away. I will not be questioned by my disgrace of a son who loves to play with blades!”

_That’s it_.

“She was _my_ mother too.” Gusion said darkly, stepping in front of his father. From the edges of his sight, he can see the horrified expressions of his brothers. Not because he was actively provoking their father, but because he had the gall to speak up in the first place. “I don’t care if you’re the master of this house, or any house in particular. I don’t care that you don’t like the way I use our magic gift. If you truly appreciated our mother, you would respect her wishes! You wouldn’t lock us up all in here like some recluse!”

A heavy silence filled the room. The atmosphere grew even darker, if that was possible. Finally Lord Paxley’s face showed a hint of emotion. A glint of fury sparked in his eyes.

“Recluse. Is that right? Then you’re free to go.” He pointed to the door, the gesture hard and unforgiving. Gusion stared at his pointed hand, and to the direction it led to. _There is no turning back from this,_ he thought, as the image of his mother’s dead body also flashed in his mind. She had been the only one to listen to him in this house, and now she’s gone. Maybe that was her last gift to him as well. He was now free. He could now actively act against the family that shut him down for so long.

“With pleasure,” he spat, heading out the door and into the world.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“You missed the target. Again.”

Gusion turned around to see Lesley staring at him, from the end of the hallway. He had asked to borrow the Imperial Sanctuary’s training courtyard, and they had allowed him, as he was still a noble in the eyes of court. And that was his ticket out. Hopefully, with all the training he had, he could be accepted into their Order of Knights, or even join the Demon Hunters’ guild. Anything to disassociate himself with the Paxleys.

“It’s sundown. Why are you still here? You’ve been there all along?” He asked her, as she joined him on the green. Ever since their untimely meeting as kids, they kept on catching up with one another during royal parties and celebrations. Sometimes they even met up to train together—Gusion with his blades, and Lesley with her rifle. In his suffocating world of rules, with his father’s domineering shadow perpetually looming over him, Lesley was a breath of fresh air, a lantern in a dark tunnel. He leaned on her guidance and companionship more than he dared confess.

“For your information, I was about to head home. Then I saw you and stayed. Just long enough to see you’re having an off day.” She finally reached him, and pat his shoulder gently. “Relax. No one needs killing.”

“Who said anything about killing?” Gusion replied gruffly, but he knew it was futile. Lesley knew him better than he knew himself.

“You have a ruthlessness to you, Gusion, and you know it,” Lesley said, her voice light but her gaze cautious. She stared at one of Gusion’s blades, stuck a few inches into the dirt. “I’m scared of how it’ll affect you, sometimes. _He_ doesn’t have to die.”

“You’re wrong,” Gusion replied almost immediately, and he surprised himself with how angry he sounded. “He _deserves_ to die. For all the years he neglected my mother, neglected me—“

“You’re vengeful,” Lesley cut him off. “And I get it, Gusion, really I do, but revenge doesn’t solve anyone’s problems.”

“It will solve _mine_.”

“Will it really?” Suddenly Lesley’s tone was filled with exhaustion. “Did you know I swore revenge on those who killed my parents? I swore that they would die by my father’s own rifle. I trained, and searched, and searched… but nothing. Eventually I grew tired. I realized that they wouldn’t have wanted me to waste my life searching for vengeance. They would’ve wanted me to live my life to the fullest, the way they never did.” Her eye flashed as she looked at the mage. “Do you think your mother would’ve wanted you to kill your father?”

Gusion couldn’t stand to look at her. He retrieved the blade from the ground, eyeing its deadly edge. His mother had never stood in the way of his ambition, despite the firm hatred of their family against swordsmanship. She never made him to be ruthless, heartless, vengeful. She most certainly never urged him towards murder.

“Well?” Lesley snapped, grabbing Gusion’s arm so that he had no choice but to look at her.

The abrupt gesture took Gusion’s breath away, quite literally. Throughout their years of friendship, Lesley had never lashed out against him unless necessary, and her sincerity shone through the smallest of movements. Right there, in that moment, he understood how much Lesley cared for him. And it made his heart speed up…

Or was it the incredibly short distance between them? Lesley’s hair gleamed in the colorful maelstrom that was the sunset, alternately rose gold and vermillion, a kaleidoscope of red. Her visible eye held no anger for him, only genuine concern. She had covered up her scar-ridden eye with an eye patch during their adolescent years, and he had a sudden urge to see both her eyes again…

And then what? He was scared to continue this line of thought. He pulled away, mind gathering its thoughts, coming back to the issue at hand.

“Yes. You’re right. You always are,” A rueful smile appeared on his lips. “What would I do without you Lesley?”

“I don’t know,” Lesley snorted. “Die probably.” She extended her arm towards him. “Escort me home, Paxley?”

“I’d be more than willing to.” He loped his arm around hers, silently chuckling at their reversed roles. Upon doing so, he noticed that Lesley smiled too, her cheeks light pink. Her eye sparkling. How come he has never noticed these things before?

She was beautiful, like this, in the estuary of sun and moon, the last rays of the sun burnishing her golden, the first twinkle of the stars making her shine. She was beautiful enough to kiss.

So he did.

“Gusion—“ She began to say, but his lips had already gravitated towards her forehead, gently pressing there. Then he fulfilled his own impulses, removing the eye patch, tracing butterfly kisses over the scarred eye. He heard the sharp intake of breath from the sniper, and a pressure over his chest was removed. Could it be that she wanted this as much as he did?

Then Lesley shoved him away, and the moment was over. “It’s way too early for that, Gusion,” She teased him, although she looked twice as flushed as before. She held her arm out for him again, and they walked out of the courtyard arm in arm.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later, when she drew him into her arms, just outside the gates of the Vance estate, the moon providing what meager light it had, he realized what she meant by “too early.”

Their first kiss felt much more mystical that way.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The heavy, black gates of the Paxley Manor opened with just as much hesitance as Gusion felt. As he walked the cobbled path up to the mansion, he could almost imagine the whispers and mutters of the servants working on the grounds, peeking through the curtains.

“The young master—“

“He’s back—“

“Didn’t Lord Paxley banish him…”

“Dating that Vance lady…”

If only Gusion could cast a Silencing Charm on them. Every cell in his body hated to be back here, his heart and mind united for once, screaming at him to back off, as far away as possible, and never look back.

_Lesley wanted this,_ he reminded himself anyway, as he pushed the dark doors open—the very same doors he had closed before and planned never to go back through again. _She wanted us to do this right. And I trust her._

“You never should have come back.” A familiar voice called to him, and he looked up to see Emeril walking down the stairs. “Father _despises_ you.”

“I thought we knew that already,” Gusion replied dismissively, climbing to meet his brother halfway. “I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to pawn you off yet. No takers?”

His brother’s eyes narrowed. “House Baroque is offering their youngest daughter for marriage.”

“Yeah, how’s that going for you?” Gusion sneered as he made his way to his father’s study.

“He won’t accept it!” His brother called after him. “You’re only wasting your time!”

_I know that too,_ Gusion thought as his brother’s voice faded out of earshot. He paused in front of the study’s doors—carved teak inlaid with gold, and golden doorknobs. The doors to his father’s study was large and imposing; the study itself even more so. When he was young, Gusion amused himself while reading the magic tomes his father kept in them, sleeping on the plush couches, staring at the portraits of the nobles of House Paxley, dating all the way back to the conception of the Empire. His mother used to point out great magicians and promise Gusion he’d grow up to be just like them.

Now all those memories had been soured for him. Unless ‘just like them’ meant being the family outcast, Gusion doubted he had fulfilled that statement. His hand grazed the inlaid wood, and he realized his fingers were trembling. Then Lesley flashed briefly through his mind again, and he inhaled, lifting his hand up and knocking thrice.

It seemed like a lifetime before his father finally responded. “Enter.”

Gusion did so, trying to calm his nerves. His father’s table was at the very far end of the room, and Lord Paxley sat behind it on his high-backed chair. It almost resembled a throne. What would that make Gusion? A petitioner or a prisoner? He tried not to think about it as he walked towards his father. “Father. It’s been quite some time.”

“Yes, it has. The messenger says you have quite the news for me—you’ve fallen for a noblewoman. And finally, too—“ He gestured expansively, making Gusion flinch. “At least one of you finally made this matchmaking business easier. Pray tell, what house is your girl from?”

_Here goes nothing_. “House Vance.”

The casual atmosphere vanished as quickly as it came.

“A Vance!?” Lord Paxley spat the words out like they were poison. And Gusion sort of hoped it was, hoped that maybe his prejudiced, overbearing father would finally keel over, once and for all. “You want to marry a Vance!?”

“House Vance is a noble member of the Imperial Court,” Gusion kept his voice level, calm, the way a noble is supposed to sound like. Not that he cares. “They have just as much clout as—“

“Yes, but _she’s_ not a Vance by blood, is she? She comes from a commoner’s family, does she not? A tiger cannot change its stripes, Gusion. I thought you would have known that by now.” His smile can be barely called one; it is cruel, deliberate, like salt purposefully rubbed onto raw skin.

“Her family is willing to vouch for her—“

“And perhaps, you think I am willing to vouch _for you?”_ Lord Paxley sneered. “You never learn, do you? I had such high hopes for you. You are the smartest, strongest, and cleverest of us. And yet you blunder.” Lord Paxley picked up his tea, blissfully unaware of his son’s fuming. “Look at your brothers. They have all become powerful mages, _without_ the use of swordsmanship, and married into _far_ more prestigious noble families. You could do so much better. You could get into my good graces once again.”

“I think we’ve established we’re past that arrangement,” Gusion snapped.

“Then you already know what my answer is.”

_No._

Gusion can’t even muster the nerve to speak. His bow is stiff, his steps towards the door even stiffer. He kept his hands balled into fists, painfully sure that he would’ve struck his own father with his blades if he didn’t. The door doesn’t even move close to an inch when Lord Paxley spoke once more.

“Ah, and I’ve arranged for your betrothal with the Baroque lady a month from now. Try not to disappoint me one more time.”

The only acknowledgment Gusion gives him is a tight nod.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A month later finds Lesley and Gusion together, in bed.

Lesley’s eyes are hazel, and in the moonlight, they exist in the luminous space between gold and silver, soft as they meet Gusion’s. Her lips are even softer, and when he holds her in his arms, it’s as though they are in a world of their own making, a world where there is no disapproval, no need for validation, no space for leering eyes. It is a world Gusion didn’t know existed until he met Lesley.

It is the most fleeting world ever to exist.

Lesley reached up to stroke his face, gently brushing back stray hands of his hair. They both ignored how the sky outside was turning from blue to purple, how dangerously close it was to dawn, how in a few hours’ time, Gusion was supposed to be marrying someone else.

“Do you think, in our next life, we’ll get this right?” Lesley murmured, right next to Gusion’s heart, and he’s grateful that she’s nestled that way so she doesn’t see the stray tear that falls from his eye, or how he quickly wipes it away. Instead, he forced himself to give a shaky laugh.

“Why would I need another life when I can have you in this one?” His fingers trembled as they stroked Lesley’s hair, crimson and smooth. “Why would I throw away the only chance I have to be with you?”

“I am not asking you to throw anything away,” Lesley looked up at him, and her voice was sincere. “I am asking you to keep it. Keep my heart. Keep it hidden, store it someplace dark and dangerous, for all I care. All I ask for is that you make it yours.”

“Only if you keep mine as well.” Something within Gusion tells him to hurry, to pour out everything he felt right then and there, even though his wedding was hours away and they were sheltered against anything and everything that might find them. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she smiled at him, and there is a wistful tone in her next words. “Will you wait for me?”

“I will. I always will.”

The words have barely left Gusion’s mouth when the door opens, and his father and brothers storm in, flanked by mercenaries with swords drawn. Obviously his father doesn’t hold one, but clearly Lord Paxley isn’t above making someone else use them when one of his plans go terribly awry.

Never mind that he considers his _own son_ as one of those plans.

“I told you not to disappoint me,” He said, quite removed, barely even making a face as Gusion and Lesley are pulled apart from each other, dragged to opposite sides of the room, a blade positioned precisely underneath Gusion’s chin, but he couldn’t care less about it because what matters more is getting the blade off Lesley’s—

He doesn’t even have time to call own his own magic.

She falls to the ground, in a curtain of red—hair or blood, he can’t tell. He feels like screaming, like cursing the winds, calling out to the grim reaper before it comes to take her away.

“LESLEY! NO—“

He felt the metal graze his skin, making a thin line of blood, and his eyes are torn away from the love of his life as he saw horror for the first time in his brothers’ faces.

“Father,” His eyes begin to blur, he can’t tell which one is trying to vouch for him. “You can’t—“

“He is family! Our brother!”

“ _Your son!_ ”

There is the briefest of silences, only punctured by Lesley’s heaving gasps.

Then—

“He is no son of mine.”

A flick of a wrist, and it is done.

He is barely aware of the world. Barely aware of his own blood, of his father’s fading voice, saying “Emeril, you go marry her,” and his equally fading footsteps. Indistinct figures follow him, and they’re calling out in anger. Disapproval? Outrage? He is too lost to know.

What he _is_ aware of, however, was the way Lesley desperately crawled to him. His feeble attempts to meet her halfway. Their fingertips barely touching before hitting the floor, cold and unrelenting. His eyes meeting hers just before they roll to the back of his skull.

They are hazel in the waking sun.

_I won’t just wait for you, Lesley. I will find you. I promise_.

═════════╕

Second

╘═════════

To their surprise, Lesley remembers first.

It comes in flashes, not even long enough to be considered visions. Soft brown hair. Bluish-grey eyes. Daggers that emit their own light. Gloved hands that throw them with frightening accuracy. The same hands that braid her hair as though it was spun glass.

_Will you wait for me?_

_I will. I always will_.

They always end on those words, promises that are her own but also not, locked in another timeline, another life, awaiting the time that they could come true.

A part of her waits, as well. The rest of her admonishes that part, to keep it quiet, to keep her wistful imaginings to herself.

In this life, she is a musketeer—a revered one, and some even claim her to be the best in the infantry. They whisper of her talent when she’s near, how she was able to hit even the farthest of targets from the very first day of training, how no criminal is safe from her once they are within her line of sight, how ruthless she is when it comes to battle, how ruthless she is, in fact, even when she’s not on the job. All of those whispers, in fact, are true, save for the very last, because she’s anything but ruthless towards her friends, even less so towards her family, and anyone who’s seen her coddle her little brother would’ve walked away claiming it was probably not Lesley Vance, the infamous Royal Musketeer.

And then there’s the first time she found him.

Gusion was a hairstylist’s apprentice, and while he was only decent at it, people—especially ladies—still flocked to his services, possibly due to his aloof nature, his knowing smile, his secretive bluish-grey eyes.

Lesley didn’t expect to recognize those eyes at first glance, and yet she did.

She also didn’t expect Gusion to forget everything. But he did anyway.

It was a bit childish, at first, how she managed to visit the small shop across the city almost every week, something about having her hair trimmed every so often when it needn’t be done before. And then eventually, when she found the courage, she asked for Gusion to braid it.

“You can do it, right?”

“Of course I can. My craftsmanship is almost as good-looking as I am,” Gusion teased, and Lesley could hear it—she can hear the voice of someone she held in her arms ages ago, hear the same voice that promised her the world. He would trim her hair, and still Lesley could see the same precision, the same finesse with which he held magic daggers, now only holding onto a pair of scissors. She saw everything—the furrow of his brow, the purse of his lips, the way he walked, talked, even _breathed_. She drank it all in, like a traveler lost In a desert for months, running into an oasis, because, technically, after who knows after how many years, she had.

But then their eyes would meet in the mirror, even as he held her hair gently, and she sees nothing in his eyes. Nothing remotely close to what she knew, what she felt. Despite every memory she remembered, every invisible string connecting them, she can tell Gusion doesn’t recall. Doesn’t understand. To him, Lesley was just another customer, no matter how intricate every braid turned out to be.

And still she visits. She sits down at his chair, peers into his eyes, hopes, yearns, _prays_ that he would remember something. Anything. Realize that in this world, they aren’t bound; no one would pull them apart. They are free.

Or was, at least, until Lesley was called to the frontlines of war. It doesn’t stop her, though. She would send the occasional letter back home, and sometimes, she’d write to Gusion, who would also write back in amusement. With every letter returned to her, Lesley felt content, somehow, happy enough to keep on waiting, waiting for Gusion to remember.

She doesn’t live long enough to find out.

═════════╕

Third

╘═════════

In their next life, Gusion finally remembers first, even if it was a little bit too late.

“The ball is happening two weeks from now, in Castle Aberleen. Someone paid us to take out Baron Tawil,” Alucard, their senior and most experienced assassin, briefed the hitmen. “The Baron is a very prominent figure in the Capital, so we have to make sure this mission goes off without a hitch. I would take it myself, but I already have something else lined up. I need volunteers.”

“I can do it,” Lancelot volunteered. “I can infiltrate Aberleen easily. I’ve been there before.”

“No, we need you in the Capital’s inner circle. You’ve been doing a great job of guising yourself thus far. If any part of this mission is somehow tied back to you, we’re done for.” Alucard’s brows furrowed in thought until he saw the solitary figure standing at the very back.

“Gusion—you’re familiar with Castle Aberleen before, aren’t you?”

“A bit,” the assassin admitted. “I’ve been to one of its theater plays as a kid.”

“Good. So now that you’re all grown up, no one would recognize you. Can you do it?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask.” He flicked up one of his blades, catching it with ease. “I won’t fail.”

“Of course you won’t.” Alucard nodded. “But I want you to take Lesley with you.”

“What!?” The two assassins spoke at the same time. Lesley glowered at Gusion from where she was sitting, in front of the meeting. “I’m not going anywhere with that rude punk!”

“And I’m not going anywhere with someone who calls me a rude punk!” Gusion crossed his arms, the expression on his face just as furious. “Especially if said someone isn’t that much better herself!”

“Awww come on, Gusion, relax,” Natalia grinned. “Think about the benefits. You’ll get to see pretty Lesley in a pretty dress.”

“Like she was ever pretty in the first place,” Gusion muttered.

“You take that back!” Lesley snapped, before turning to Alucard. “Let me have this mission instead. We both know I can do it.”

“I’m not judging any of your skills,” he replied in a neutral tone. “It’s just that you can’t enter without an escort. We need the two of you to blend in as well as possible until the exact moment of execution.”

“But—“

“No buts.” Alucard’s voice hardened, and the assassins finally quieted down. “See to it that you’re prepared for this mission. Dismissed.”

At his final words, every one but Lesley and Gusion left the room, and the atmosphere grew considerably tense.

Lesley stood up from her seat, shifting her hold on the rifle so that it looked as though she could shoot Gusion at any given moment. Her one good eye was narrowed, and in the dim light, it was hard to tell its color. Gold? Hazel? Brown?

_Whatever._ Gusion finally sheathed his dagger, turning towards the door. “Keep out my way until then, Vance.”

“Of course,” Lesley replied silkily, slipping out before he could. She turned back, giving him a devilish smirk. “Just make sure to pick up your jaw from the floor when you see how glamorous I could actually look.”

She left Gusion at the doorway, fuming, that he didn’t get the last word. And perhaps, just the _slightest_ bit curious.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

They are dressed in matching outfits, black with accents of red, and he tries to ignore the wolf-whistles the rest of their fellow assassins give them. Lancelot gave them the thumbs up on the way out. Fanny is giggling outright, and while Alucard is trying to shush her, he is also hiding a smile behind his fist. Gusion doesn’t understand the big deal. It was just a formal party, where they had to assassinate someone. They’ve done it a hundred times before.

“Pick up the pace, Paxley,” Lesley muttered as she clambered onto the motorcar they’ve rented for the mission. She had to hold onto him as she did so, and so he had no choice but to look at her, and notice how the red accents made her hair even rosier, how it soft it felt when it brushed against his arm, how smooth her hand was perched in his, how clammy his own hand felt in comparison. And… and there was something else—something flashing behind his eyes—

_A hazel eye watching him closely. Him removing the eye patch and kissing the scar that adorned the other eye. An actual kiss, on the lips, under the moonlight. Lesley’s voice, playful, in a way he hadn’t heard before, teasing. “One is all you get, Paxley, or you might get too comfortable—“_

_Lesley asking him to wait for her._

_Him replying that he would, he always would—_

“Gusion! We’re already running late!” Gusion was dragged back to the present, cold water splashed over thin parchment, the memories fell through once more. It couldn’t be, could it? This couldn’t be the same Lesley he glimpsed just now. That Lesley… she was soft, gentle, loving. She firmly believed that it was she and Gusion against the world, and he was willing to follow where she went. This Lesley… yes, she was beautiful, she was remarkably skilled, and yet she and Gusion argued for months on end, they squabbled over everything, fighting over who could kill the targets the fastest. Lesley was so over him, and he was just as done with her. _Surely_ fate wouldn’t be so cruel to pair him with someone as headstrong as her…

… Except he was just as headstrong, too. Except that when they were on the same page, they made an excellent team, they had each other’s back. Except that Gusion had taken Lesley’s advice to heart more than he was willing to admit. Except that when they went to a tavern after the mission, and Lesley punched someone feeling her up, getting beer and spit all over her dress, Gusion still thought she looked prettier than any other woman he had seen that night.

_Will you wait for me?_

_I will. I always will._

_Is it you? Is it finally you?_

_I will ask her after this_ , Gusion decided, days later, as he took on a new mission. _When all this is done, I’ll come back to you. We’ll finally get this right._

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Gusion never came back. Only then does Lesley remember.

═════════╕

Fourth

╘═════════

_Love, before you go home, can you swing by this address first? I need something picked up. Yours truly, G~_

_[Blk. 3, XXXXX St., Grandrock City]_

Lesley smiled upon reading the short note the messenger left her. Outside, the cadets were finishing their final drills for the day, and there were no other important affairs to attend to. She picked up her briefcase and headed out of the office, quickly putting back on a serious face as other soldiers stopped and saluted as she passed by.

Outside the military base, a sleek black car awaited her arrival, and the chauffeur bowed slightly at her arrival. “Where to, General Rosa?”

“Please, drop the formalities. It’s just Lesley.” She smiled at him, handing him the small card. “Do you know where this is?”

“Ah, yes, General—Lesley. Is this where we’re headed?”

“Yes, please.”

Within a half an hour, the car was pulling up a small storefront. Its walls had been painted a cheerful mint green, with a matching green and yellow awning. The glass windows boasted beautiful blooms of roses, daffodils, lilies, and other flowers Lesley didn’t recognize. If that wasn’t enough, a small plaque on the green door read _Moonlight Sonata’s Blooms_.

“Oooh, a flower shop!” The chauffeur looked at Lesley through the rearview mirror, a teasing grin on his face. “Your husband knows his gifts, Miss Lesley.”

“Yes…” Lesley smiled affectionately.

“… Granger knows a thing or two about romantic gestures.”

She entered the flower shop, and was quickly bombarded by a combination of floral scents, as well as a riotous combination of colors due to all the flowers present. The only part of the room that wasn’t full to the brim with blooms was the cash register at the very back, where a young woman was busy writing something down on a notebook.

“Uhm, good afternoon?”

“Oh! Yes, hello!” The woman looked up from her notebook and smiled. “Here to purchase anything? Or perhaps pick up a reservation?”

“Actually, yes. Did a Mr. Granger order anything?”

“So _you’re_ the lucky girl!” The woman shivered in excitement, and Lesley couldn’t help the small giggle that left her. “It was quite the order, and he chose the most exquisite combination of flowers I’ve ever known. I studied flower language before my husband and I opened shop, you see, bless him, and I’ve never known anyone to be just as knowledgeable as we were until your husband made this order.” The woman then lightly hit her forehead, slipping out of the cash register. “Oh, look at me rambling, when I should be fetching your flowers! It’ll just be a moment, miss.”

“It’s all right… Guinevere,” Lesley made an effort to read the nametag on the uniform. “I have all afternoon.”

“Nonsense! My husband would’ve had the order out within seconds. Anyways…” Guinevere entered a smaller room, and after a few minutes, came back with the most beautiful bouquet Lesley had ever seen.

“It was a joy to arrange these,” Guinevere grinned. “Do… do you want an explanation?”

“I would gladly appreciate one.”

“Alright. We have red roses,” Guinevere gestured to them. “Normally, that would mean romance, but there is also a single yellow rose in the middle. Together, they signify passion. The matthiola signify contentment. The baby’s breath means everlasting love and happiness. He even insisted on the leaves—grevillea, which means true love and faith.”

“So… in conclusion, your husband must love you very much. It’s very heartwarming.”

“Thank you. I love him with all my heart as well.” She looked up to see Guinevere looking wistfully at the flowers. “Forgive me for intruding, but your husband…”

“There’s no easy way to say it miss, but it’s alright. Yes, he died about a year ago.”

“Ah… I’m sorry. You must miss him tremendously.”

“Oh, everyday. But it’s not as bad as you think. He had been sick for the longest time before he finally passed, and we were able to make peace before then. You see…” Guinevere looked at her strangely before continuing. “…He always told me I deserved someone better, even after we married. That destiny would have different plans for both of us. I never knew what that meant, and I foolishly never asked him. I suspected him of cheating, once, but by the time I had mustered the anger to investigate, he was practically bedridden. Gods!” She blinked rapidly and waved a hand in front of her face. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

“Um, doing _what_ again, exactly?”

“Rambling! I said I wouldn’t anymore. Anyhow… have a nice day, Miss…”

“Lesley. It’s Lesley.”

“Miss Lesley.” Guinevere smiled at her warmly as the front door opened, and she looked past Lesley to see the newcomer. “Ah, Sion! How was school?”

“It was fine, Mama! Mr. Gord taught us how to make things fly!”

Lesley turned around to look at “Sion.” He was only about half her height, and was dressed in a school uniform. His brown hair must’ve been combed in the morning but was now mussed, with some parts intact and others ruffled. He held a schoolbag in his chubby hands as he looked at Lesley with equal interest, bluish-grey eyes full of curiosity.

_Bluish-grey eyes… why does that seem so familiar? Like… like I should recognize it somehow? but—but that’s ridiculous, this is a kid—_

“Sion! Where are your manners! Greet the nice lady!” Guinevere approached the child, and he clung to her shyly before reaching out a trembling hand.

“Um… Good afternoon, miss. My name is Gusion Baroque-Paxley. Howdyoudo?”

“I’m just fine,” Lesley giggled as she shook the kid’s hand. “Gusion, huh? Quite a strange name.”

“Yeah, he gets that a lot.” Guinevere ruffled Sion’s hair affectionately. “We named him after his father.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Love,” Granger was sitting on the front porch as the car parked in front of the beautiful, two-story house. “Welcome home. How was your day?”

“A million times better now that I’m with you,” Lesley smiled at him, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. “The flowers were absolutely stunning. I can’t thank you enough.”

“No thanks necessary,” He promised her, fondling some of the petals in the bouquet. “In fact, now that I see you and the flowers side by side, I daresay you’re a million times prettier.”

“Flirt.” Lesley punched Granger’s shoulder lightly with her free hand, making him chuckle. “The store owner even explained to me what all the flowers meant. She was very accommodating.”

“Yes, she was.” They made their way into their house, where Lesley immediately began looking for a vase. “Did she tell you about—“

“—About her husband? Yes. It seemed that she was very much in love with him, but he wasn’t with her.” Lesley paused in her search, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “At least, from what I can tell.”

“But we’re not them.” Granger approached her once again, a glass vase in his hand. Lesley took the vase and filled it with water, transferring the flowers to it.

“No, we’re not.” She set the vase on their coffee table. “Also, I saw their son. He looked so awfully familiar, but that’s ridiculous, right? I mean, it’s a kid.”

“Maybe you’ve seen him in a past life,” Granger teased.

Lesley scoffed at that, although a small part of her mind insisted that there was something more to this, something she was missing, something _incredibly_ important. But how could that be? She had a good job, a gorgeous house, and a husband who adored her and whom she adored back. What else could she need?

“Maybe.”

═════════╕

Fifth

╘═════════

When Lesley was five, her mother tried teaching her to play the violin, and she managed to play a few good chords, much to her mother’s delight. A few years later, when her parents died in a car accident, and the Vances next door decided to adopt her, they graciously continued her education, not only academically, but also musically, up to the point that she had considered it as a way to earn a living.

This particular project was just another one in a long line of projects. Granger had passed it on to her, saying the genre was too contemporary for his liking, and Lesley accepted it enthusiastically, more than willing to share her talent to the world. The rest of the performers—Esmeralda on tambourine, Guinevere on vocals, and a strangely young Harith on saxophone—quickly became her friends, their personalities complementing with hers, their styles meshing well to make the song sound fun and catchy. Although there _was_ one more member—

“Gusion, Lesley, I need you both to sing these next couple of lyrics, so if you guys could just get in the recording booth real quick—“

“Sure thing, Martis,” Gusion piped up from where he was tuning his guitar. He turned to Lesley, an enthusiastic smile as he did so. “Ready?”

“Um… of course,” Lesley nodded, ignoring the knowing looks Esmeralda and Guinevere shared as she stood up, taking Gusion’s hand. She suspected that Gusion might have been flirting with her for the past couple of days—talking to her more often than the others, offering to buy her drinks after practice, even asking her give him violin lessons. There were times when she thought she caught the guitarist staring at her, only for him to quickly avert his gaze.

But it couldn’t be that easy, could it? She _did_ like him, though—he was approachable, he had a good sense of humor, and the way he got along with Harith told her that he could get along with her own younger brother, Harley. But this was only for a few weeks. Then they would have to part ways once again, especially for Lesley, who had just received an invitation to join an orchestra. She didn’t want to be pinned down, at least not yet, even if it was with someone as nice and handsome as him.

_Come and battle, come and battle_

_Let’s hit the next level_

_Come and battle, come and battle_

_Am the real game right rebel_

“Yep, that’s a wrap for you guys! That was really good! Harith, Guinevere, you’re next.” Martis gestured for them to get out of the recording booth, and Lesley did so, but not before Gusion raised his hand for a high five.

“Not bad, Vance.”

She obliged him, returning his smile warmly. “You too, Paxley.”

They never really did understand why they gravitated towards one another, and they never really got together, but at least they knew what could have been.

For two individuals that never really remembered, that was the best that they could hope for.

═════════╕

Sixth

╘═════════

The razor sharp edge of a sword is what triggers Gusion’s memories, even as he tips over the edge of a building. It’s quaint, how weightlessness allows for your mind to travel, lulls the body into a false sense of security, whispering that you needn’t worry for a moment, it’s perfectly natural for you to float in mid-air.

And his mind follows these instructions to the tee—already they’re going through the motions, over and over. Her rose-kissed hair, her one hazel eye, resplendent in the vivid sunset, her voice, steady and sure and wise.

The same voice, asking him to wait.

He tries to answer back, ready to fulfill his role in this life away from his own—then gravity snatches him back.

“Gusion!” he heard a voice call—Hanabi, probably, but which Gusion is she calling to? This Gusion, the Emperor Scorpion, the leader of V.E.N.O.M? Or perhaps the Gusion Paxley in the past, the fourth son, the smartest, cleverest—the only one that dared to rebel, the only one that dared to love…

His mind is still scrambling to get back to its dreamworld, and as a result, his vision flickers in and out of substantiality—one moment, the cityscape of Zlatan is above him, glowing blue and white, a black mass that looks somewhat like a helicopter zooming down towards him—the next, he can see a mansion, _his_ mansion, the gardens, the pond; another place, a courtyard, grassy and sunny—

The wind tore through his armor, bringing him back to present again, and he is now aware of the wound lining his gut, the speed of his fall. Below him would be concrete, nothing but hard stone. Zlatan wasn’t known for its tendencies of putting cushions on sidewalks where assassins could plummet to their deaths.

_Surely they know to continue the mission without me,_ Gusion thought, in slow motion. _Surely she knew that I tried—_

If he could laugh at that moment, he would. He had only begun to remember her, and he was already apologizing.

_I’m sorry—L…Les…l—_

He hit the ground with a hard thud. Wait, no—this wasn’t the ground. The ground wasn’t metal, and it wasn’t sloping at an angle. It wasn’t supposed to be making heavy, whirring noises as it gained speed.

_So that black mass was a helicopter, after all._

His lids grew heavy, excited to return to its reverie. He felt hands gently tug on his arm—pulling him to safety, or maybe tugging him to so that he could look someone in the face. He sees a flash of red. Then he sees nothing at all.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When he comes to, he is no longer in a helicopter, or any place familiar. His mind reluctantly lets go of its scrabbled memories, forced to face the current situation. Someone had taken off the rest of his armor, leaving him in his normal clothes. But underneath that...

He felt for his gut. It felt only minutes ago that Saber had struck him, his torso bleeding a thin line of red, but now it has been bandaged. He tried sitting up, but every muscle in his body protested.

“You have to stay still for now,” A voice said, a familiar one. “I did the best I could, but I’m no Angela.”

Gusion watched as a door by his side opened, and a woman stepped in—her features as clear as day. Vibrant red hair, strong, feminine features, hazel eyes. Gusion thought he recognized her from his visions. Then he realized he knew her by something else.

“You’re—you’re the Lethal Lady,” He said. “ But you’re one of the most renowned assassins in the criminal underworld. You… you shouldn’t be here.”

“I am. And I shouldn’t be. Or maybe I should?” She mused, taking a seat by his bed. “After all, we _did_ make a promise, didn’t we?”

Gusion let his eyes drift up to the ceiling, and his mind ran through the universes once again. Water blinds the edges of his vision, drowns his thoughts. “To wait. And I… I promised to find you. Lesley… I—I’m sorry—“

“Shhhh,” Lesley leaned over him and kissed his forehead gently, once again, a familiar gesture, judging by the glint in her eye. “You did find me, Gusion.”

His heart soared as his name flew from her lips—a siren song, a way back home to what they used to be. His mind still reeled between two realities, both demanded his full attention. It seemed so unfair that at the moment, she remembers more than he does. And for other reasons…

“I can’t stay.” He looked up at her in worry. “The longer I’m here, the longer S.A.B.E.R can track me down. And if they find you… they find _us_ …”

It felt so good to say _us._ It felt good to have her with him again, it felt good to be back in that world, the world where only they mattered. But it is an unstable universe, a momentary one at best. They both knew that.

“I understand. You have your mission. I have my own.” Lesley reached for his hand, and Gusion did his best to hold it back, desperately letting her know how much he missed her. “Perhaps we shall meet in the next life over, eh?”

“We will. I will find you. And I won’t take no for an answer.” The determination in his chest gave him the strength to get up, somehow, and he took Lesley in his arms. “I’ll see you soon?”

Her laugh was as beautiful as the moon when they first kissed. “You will.”

═════════╕

Seventh

╘═════════

“Flash, Maiden, Sentinel, are we in position?”

“Ready when you are, Ops.”

“Alright. Hold till I say so.” Gusion recalibrated the sensors of his goggles, refocusing its view. They had been planning for more than three months now—the final extension their superiors gave them. If they didn’t catch the criminal hackers tonight, the government will shut their division down and give this mission to someone else.

Not only does it hurt Gusion’s career, it will also hurt his pride.

He, Layla, Masha, and Gatotkaca had studied these criminals for so long, he could probably list their stats off in his sleep. Virus, the brains of the operation, known for being able to alter code within seconds, Spectre, their espionage expert, who is still somehow able to slip through security after it is upgraded _every single time_ , and Ghost, their backup and eyes from the sky.

It is Ghost—or Stellaris Ghost, as the file lists her—that intrigues Gusion the most. Virus was easy enough to pinpoint once she is in the system, although the damage she leaves is almost irreparable, and even Spectre can sometimes be caught unaware, though she can still execute near perfect escapes. But Ghost—

—he had never seen Ghost make a mistake. He had never seen Ghost, period. Their information comes from what little small talk their own hackers were able to tap into. And even that could be completely unusable—Layla suspected that they might have discussed Ghost with the purpose of fooling their team, that this third criminal might not even exist. But how could they explain the gunfire that occurs when they try to engage? Or the bullet casings they find outside every building after a hacking operation? Or the hazy figure Masha _swears_ she saw escort Virus and Spectre on their escape?

There was no longer any time for second-guessing. They had to catch Virus and Specter tonight, and if she _did_ exist, Ghost, too. Might as well prepare for everything.

“I sighted Spectre. Third floor, second window to the right.” Masha said. “Engage?”

“No, not yet,” Gusion replied. “Not until we see Virus, as well.”

“Alright. You really think they’ll fall for it?”

“For a while. Fake code isn’t easy to distinguish from real ones, especially after having to break through several firewalls just to access it. After that, we’ll only have a few seconds.” Gusion zoomed in on Spectre’s silhouette, the spy’s trademark modified claws making tiny shadows on the wall. “Stay focused. Virus can appear any minute.”

His teammates don’t say anything, and for a moment, Gusion thinks they all answered in the affirmative, already keeping quiet. The silence lasts for three minutes. Then five. A nervous chill runs down Gusion’s spine.

“Flash? Maiden? Sentinel?”

No response.

Virus appeared momentarily through the windows then, and Gusion almost gave away his location in alarm, his knives barely staying hidden in shadow. “Flash—Maiden—Sentinel—they’ve both been sighted, engage now, I repeat, _engage_ —“

Through the intercom, he hears Gatotkaca give a small grunt of pain, and only then does he realize what happened.

The cold feeling of metal touching the back of his head also helped alleviate most of the confusion.

“Cyber Ops,” A silent, _ghostlike_ voice said. “Finally we meet.”

“Stellaris Ghost,” Gusion replied calmly, using every last bit of restraint he had to prevent from lashing out at the sniper, the knowledge that she had _killed his entire team_ igniting fury in his nerves. “So you _do_ exist.”

“You were the only one not to question it from the beginning. Impressive.”

“I tend not to underestimate my enemies.”

“No,” He can almost hear the smirk in Ghost’s voice. And through the faint reflection of the window pane in front of him, he can almost see her too—she wears goggles, just like him—where his is emerald green, hers is gold. A single silver braid fell over her shoulder—or maybe it is lavender, he can’t tell. In fact, her bleary image gives off the feeling that Gusion might have known her entire life—

“And yet, you still fail to them.”

He had studied guns before, even though blades were his preferred weapons of choice. Shooting one is never silent, even with a help of a suppressor. There is always some sort of backlash—perhaps a pop, or a whoosh from the compressed air. He had gotten used to loud gunshots through his combat training. The fact that Layla’s favorite weapon is a handheld cannon doesn’t help matters either.

So when the silent bullet slips its way through his hair, his scalp, and into his head, he is completely unprepared.

A name replaces every single thought in Gusion’s head, a name that has stuck with him time and time again, a name his soul remembers when his brain cannot. A name his heart whispered in the deepest recesses of his being.

Before he can truly spell out the name in his mind, Gusion died.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Lesley stepped away from the body as it fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Murders like these were messy, and she didn’t want her white armor to get dirty. She had sniped every other officer from afar, but there was just something simply rewarding about being able to kill the leader of the enemy at point-blank range. There was barely even any opposition—as though Cyber Ops knew he was done for and was just waiting for the kill.

It may also have something to do with the fact that Lesley loves to shoot now and ask questions later.

_Gusion_ , She remembered suddenly. _That’s what his name was_. Or what the government file said, at least. It was ridiculously easy for Selena to access the files of the elite team instructed to hunt them down, and even easier to play along with them until Selena grew bored and finally designated this night as their last run. After this, they’d move on to bothering a new city, a new set of rules, a new assault team. It was a tried-and-perfected routine, and Lesley enjoyed it.

“Les!” Natalia— _Spectre,_ as the elite team loved to call her, appeared out of nowhere. Her claws gleamed in the filtered moonlight. “What’s up—oh…” She pouted. “You didn’t even leave any for me?”

“Sorry,” Lesley admitted. “I kind of got carried away.”

“ _Kind of_ ,” Natalia sneered, although Lesley knew she wasn’t really that angry. “Hey, Selena, done with the hacking thing yet?”

“I’m literally right behind you, dumbass.” Selena joined them as they stared at the operative’s lifeless body. “The code was fake. I knew it as soon as I saw the firewall. This city’s security is _so_ outdated. If I had any shred of kindness within me I’d volunteer to improve it. Too bad I’m blinded by money or something.” She carelessly kicked Cyber Ops’s body over, so that his face was somehow visible, albeit bloody. “I mean, look at them. They just wanted their crime division to stay afloat. _Cybercrime Protection,_ my ass.”

At the sight of the officer’s bloodstained face, Lesley’s stomach grew queasy, flipped upside down. At first she thought the taco she ate that morning was probably off, but that didn’t seem right. No, this was something different, something’s not right; there was something incredibly, _fundamentally wrong—_

“Yo, Lesley, nerves caught up to you or something?” Natalia nudged her. She belatedly realized she was crying.

“No, I—“ She wiped the tears off her face, tears she didn’t understand. “I’m good. Dust got in my eye.”

“You’re _literally_ wearing goggles.”

“Yes, and when the dust particles slip through, they have nowhere else to go.” Lesley furiously blinked the rest away. “Can we go yet? I’m dead tired.”

“Pun not intended, of course.” Selena jokingly wagged her finger at the corpse. “So am I, though. Let’s go. Tomorrow, we make for the next city over.”

_Perhaps we shall meet in the next life over, eh?_

_You did find me, Gusion._

_Gusion! We’re already running late!_

_You can do it, right?_

_Will you wait for me?_

Lesley stumbled, and if it weren’t for Selena’s quick reflexes, she would’ve collapsed onto the bloody floor. She doesn’t talk on their way back to HQ, or as they clean up, or even after Selena greeted them both a cheery “Good night!” with reminders to be up bright and early the next morning.

Lesley fails to follow her reminders, though.

Sobbing into your pillow for what feels like the whole night can do that to you.

_I’m sorry, I’m so, so, sorry—_

═════════╕

Eighth

╘═════════

It takes literal millennia, at the end of the known universe, for them to get it right.

Lesley is atop her ship’s mast, gazing into solar system’s bespectacled sky. You don’t always get to visit a planet where the atmosphere was so thin, you could see every satellite and star as far as the eye could see, and so she’s taking every opportunity to soak it in.

And then again, you don’t always get a radio signal from someone who claims to have seen you in his dreams and visions, either.

Lesley turned to look at the communicator in her hands. It was a state of the art gadget, designed to display and track down any entity in the universe. Modena Butterfly and Obsidian Blade had it specially made for her just before she left Earth. There were several green dots on its screen, each pertaining to a specific star or asteroid or comet, but none that she was waiting for. Still, she stared intently at the map.

After a few moments, another entity popped up on the map—a bright blue dot, moving rapidly towards her location. The database cheerfully told her that the entity’s name was Cosmic Gleam, but then again, the database knew her as Angelic Agent. She knew better than that.

Or at least, she was hoping she did.

There was a brief flash of light in the sky, and Lesley quickly looked up to the heavens in time to see a humanoid figure, clad in white and blue and gold, slowly land itself on the deck. He took off his helmet, smoothing down the ruffled black hair, and his eyes drifted to where Lesley was standing, on the mast.

Bluish-grey eyes.

She’d know those eyes anywhere.

With unerring ease, she leapt onto the deck, rifle at ready—force of habit. The man only looked at her defensive stance, carelessly tossing a blade back and forth in his hands.

“Agent.”

“Gleam.”

It took a good ten seconds. Maybe less. Then, with a strangled sob, Lesley dropped her rifle, rushing into Gusion’s arms, holding onto him for dear life. Tears found their way from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks, but she didn’t care. The ship could implode on itself, the planet could self-destruct, the entire universe could decide to disintegrate, but she couldn’t care less. _They_ couldn’t care less. They were back in the world of their own making. The wanderer has come home, and all is right in the world once again.

“You found me,” She whispered, as Gusion dropped his own dagger and held her back. His hand tipped her chin upwards, and their lips met—a reunion under a different moon.

“Yes, I did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Stay safe, everyone! Wash your hands always and practice social distancing!
> 
> comments and kudos are well-appreciated as always :)
> 
> (for updates and other stupid stuff follow me on ig [@cheol_apple](https://www.instagram.com/cheol_apple/) )


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